


Warmer Sands

by dionysianDaydream (500ADNunu)



Category: Mabinogi (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/500ADNunu/pseuds/dionysianDaydream
Summary: An unlikely couple has formed in the wake of the formation of the Expeditionary Force.
Relationships: Murielle/Eirawen (Mabinogi)





	Warmer Sands

The Expeditionary Force, with their primary objective of restoring peace to all of Erinn accomplished, have long since said their farewells and formally disbanded.

However, that is not to say some of their members have not still remained in touch...

We open on Eirawen, enjoying a cup of tea one day, in the hanging gardens of Tara Castle. She is joined by a dear friend, in this quiet, secluded getaway where the air smells of freshly trimmed grass, and a perfume-like medley of sweet, floral fragrances. The skies above are perfectly clear, and the future—by all indications—seems bright, even as a shadow of doubt is presently etched across Eirawen's brow.

"I...TRY to be more relaxed." She muses aloud, with a perceptible frown.

Her eyes shift about anxiously, and her lips are parted slightly—with a subtle quivering to them, as is observed by her partner while she briefly pauses to collect her thoughts.

"It is as if, with every day that passes without incident...I cannot help but grow more wary."

"Ever since I ascended to the throne, it's just been one cataclysm after another." She scoffs. "Small wonder I'm constantly on edge—always anticipating the next potentially world-ending catastrophe to happen, at any moment!"

At this time she sighs, averting her gaze before taking another hurried sip from her cup. 

"Of course, I spent my whole life preparing for this. It is my destiny to be Queen, and I never suspected it would be easy..."

"I just wish...I could learn to enjoy this peace, while it lasts."

Seated across from her, Murielle has remained quiet up until now, when she offers a reassuring smile.

"I think it's only natural for you worry so much, your Majesty."

"It only goes to show how much you really care about the well-being of your subjects."

Murielle reaches out to touch Eirawen's hand—a slender, bowman's finger gliding gently across a soft, unblemished wrist. 

As their gazes meet, Eirawen struggles to comport herself. 

"Your...letters..." She utters shakily. "I read them over and over again...all the time."

"Whenever I feel at my lowest—about to break, under all the pressure that's been placed upon me..."

"It is your words alone...that always manage to put me at ease."

Murielle inhales deeply—taken aback by all the strong feelings welling up within her all at once, in a dizzying tide. "I'm...glad." She replies, with a cordial—if not slightly awkward—smile.

'What's she thinking?' Murielle wonders. 'Speaking so openly like this, in her own castle.' Surely, with so many guards posted about to watch over her, one was bound to overhear something.

She begins to slowly withdraw her extended hand, only for Eirawen to abruptly SNATCH it.

"My, my...” Eirawen purrs. “I thought the Elves were known to be a sharp and perceptive bunch, if anything."

"Haven't you noticed something unusualy about your surroundings, yet?" 

Seeing the Queen's coy grin, Murielle plays along. Yet, at first glance, nothing seems amiss among the impeccably maintained flowering bushes and trees that comprise the hanging gardens. Murielle had convened here many times before, while working with the Expeditionary Force, and it was just as she remembered. So, too, was Eirawen: at this time watching her eagerly, with her cute face nestled in her palms. Eyes that twinkled with uncommon wisdom and maturity, yet still brimmed with an infectiously youthful energy.

Murielle shakes her head—her normally keen senses thwarted by the steady thumping of her heart in her chest. "Apologies, Your Majesty. For whatever reason...I can't seem to concentrate right now."

Eirawen laughs. "Can't you see we're all alone? I had my guards dismissed for the day."

Murielle jumps back in her chair. "Y-y-your Majesty! But isn't that dangerous?"

"It's been so long since we last saw each other. I wanted us to have the castle alone to ourselves."

"I'll admit, perhaps it was a bit...reckless, of me.”

“Although, I am confident that with YOU here, I will be more than safe...”

She grazes her foots against Murielle's leg, underneath the table.

"There is no one I would be more willing to entrust my life to. Not even the Milletian."

Murielle looks away, with a mustered grin. "Oh come now, Eira. Saying such sweet things out loud...I'm seriously starting to blush."

Unbeknownst to her, Eirawen is secretly just as nervous as she is.

However, more than anything she is determined; above all else, she would not allow for such a precious arrangement as this to go to waste.

"In those letters, you said I was a precious gem you would do anything to protect.” She says, as she touches her upon her face. “That I could always call upon you, whenever I needed."

"Part of being Queen is accepting that the people who put their lives on the line to protect you may also turn on you at any moment, should you begin to falter in your royal duties.” She says, biting her lip. "However, you are one person I feel I can always confide in."

Murielle nods. "That's right. Although, my words in those letters are only scraping the outer surface of my feelings for you."

"Like the warm desert sands of my home...there is a whole world beneath, still to explore."

Eirawen and Murielle both lean in close, so that their foreheads meet, as they stare deeply into each other's yearning-filled eyes.

"If only it were possible, I would like to walk those warm sands by your side, someday." Eirawen says.

Murielle beams. "I would hold you tight, as we watch the sun set over the dunes..."

Eirawen giggles,as she nudges her lips tantalizingly close to Murielle's. Close enough, that they could feel one another's weighted breaths. 

"Then,” she says, “as the sky turns dark and the heavens become littered with stars—”

“It'll be something...” Murielle says, just before moving in for a kiss. "Like this."

Their tongues are entwined. Their lusting hands reach out, grasping tightly unto each other's slender frames with wanton fervor. All further talk dissolves into a chorus of pleasured moans, gasps, and tiny whimpers. Murielle, being the only one of the two retaining some semblance of lucidity in the moment, can practically taste the young Queen's inexperience—thinking, rightly, that this might be her first kiss.

In a fit of passion, she pulls Eirawen down with her, along with the tablecloth, unto the hard ground.  
A saucer falls off the table, shattering dangerously close to Eirawen's head, as Murielle roughly pins her small frame—that of a pampered princess—beneath her more toned, sturdy physique. The lips of the contrasting pair remain joined all the while, sucking and licking and slurping, as Murielle dexterously snakes an arm up the inside of Eirawen's royal robe. She lightly squeezes what her questing hand discovers there—pleasantly warm and soft, and fitting perfectly in her palm like a perfectly ripened plum. 

Eirawen's eyes jolt open. Much as she was tempted to be taken fully, right then and there, when she turned her head to the side and saw her crown had fallen from her heard, unto the ground nearby...it occurred to her, with startling clarity, that something was exceedingly wrong about this setup. 

At once, she abruptly draws her lips away—casting unto Murielle what can be described as an incriminating glare.

Murielle, thinking that she had perhaps been too forward, shrinks away sheepishly.

“This SIMPLY will not do!” Eirawen says, with the same authoritative tone she would employ when giving an order to any one of her soldiers. “I will not be thrown unto the floor and freely violated, like some common brothel girl!” 

“Muri...if we are to do this, then we shall do this right!” 

With these words harshly uttered, she smirks—revealing a glimmer of mischief.

Murielle, with her prior trepidation turned to amusement, and finding these games that Eira so liked to play to be rather sexy besides, cocks her head to the side—tossing her striking, fiery auburn hair as she does so—with a coy grin, and suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

“Whatever it is you desire, your majesty...” She answers. “As your humble servant, I will comply.”


End file.
